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“The plan hasn’t changed no matter where we stand,” he said quickly. “If need be, I will come for you. But first, Lyriana, remember who you are. Remember you can do this. No ropes can hold you. No cage can trap you. You get scared—you see that rope in your mind. And you tear that fucking rope apart.”
The door burst open.
The two bearded soturi of the Emperor’s guard crossed the threshold, followed by three more, all wearing the sigil of the Emperor. The bearded soturi flanked me, each grabbing an arm, but before I knew it, the remaining soldiers surrounded Rhyan.
“What are you…?” I asked.
There was a punch, the sound of skin slapping skin, as I tried to turn back. Rhyan’s arms had been held wide open, a soturion needed for each arm, while a third had punched him in the face. Rhyan’s scar was red and irritated, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth that he spat onto the soturion who’d hit him.
“Fuck you.”
“Forsworn mongrel,” the guard cursed, grabbing the hem of Rhyan’s cloak to wipe the blood from his own golden armor.
The other guards pulled his arms back—too far. They were going to break his arms if they pulled any farther. Rhyan grimaced but didn’t move, didn’t try to fight back.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Answer me.”
“You’re in no position to ask questions, your grace.”
A mage bearing the golden Valalumir sigil strolled into the room, his blue cloak trailing behind him, his stave pointed. He barely seemed to notice my presence, as he strode past me, his dark eyes piercing. His attention was focused wholly on Rhyan.
I struggled against my captors, trying to turn around to see what they were doing, when the mage began the incantation for a binding.
“No! Stop!” I yelled. “He’s not being tested! I am!” I shoved and kicked against the soturi at my sides. They pushed my arms behind my back, their strength so forceful, I cried out in pain.
“Stop!” Rhyan roared as the magic began to unfurl from the mage’s stave. But he wasn’t speaking to the mage. He was glaring at my guards, his expression feral. “She has no magic, you bastards. Do that again, and you’ll break her arms. Is that what your Emperor ordered? Is he so scared of a girl without power?”
I grunted in pain as they pulled harder on me in response. Exhaling sharply, I adjusted my posture to flow with their assault, leaning into the position they forced on me. Rhyan was right—one more forceful touch from either of them, and my bones would snap.
It seemed to work, and I could almost feel relief, but then their hands tightened around me to the point of pain. If I survived, I’d have bruises on my arms for weeks.
Rhyan snarled but remained still, his expression solemn, like he had resigned himself to his fate as the Emperor’s mage finished his incantation. The black shadows transformed into ropes that glowed red as they wound their way across Rhyan’s body, sealing him in place, cutting him off from his power and magic strength. The binding ropes turned black and glittering beneath the room’s torchlight as Rhyan’s jaw clenched.
I remembered their heat, the horrific feel of them against my body.
They were hurting him. Burning him.
He shook his head at me, the move subtle as he tried to give me a reassuring look, but I could see the pain in his eyes, the fear at being unable to access his power, unable to help me. They’d just effectively cut him off from traveling and rescuing me from the field. They’d also cut me off from any possibility of using kashonim.
But I didn’t care about that. I cared about the look of anguish on Rhyan’s face, that he was back in the ropes he hated so much—the ropes he’d spent years trying to break free from, the ropes he’d fought so hard to tear apart.
I wanted to kill them all. After I survived this test, I was going to hunt down these men, punish them for forcing Rhyan back into that place where his father had imprisoned him.
His mouth tightened, the lines on his face hard, but again he shook his head, still trying to reassure me.
“Time to go,” said the soturion at my right. “Ready, your grace?”
I stumbled as my captors pulled me out of the room, down the winding halls, and outside where they released my arms and shoved me into the arena alone.
I caught my bearings and realized the entire Katurium was full. I turned in a circle, staring up at the stadium stands, the sections full of brushed-gold armor and silver. My enemies seemed to have taken every last seat, all here to watch my doom.
I looked back. Rhyan’s guards were behind me, pushing him toward the pole. My body started to shake. What the fuck was happening?
They forced him to stand against it as the mage pointed his stave at Rhyan, freeing his arms only. The binding still glittered and burned across his body, shining across his leathered armor. Directing his stave, the mage tried to force Rhyan’s arms up.
Rhyan grunted, his muscles tensed, keeping his arms down and completely defying the will of the mage. The mage’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the twisting of sun-and-moon wood. He pushed his stave forward, the tendons in his arms taut, his teeth gritted, but still Rhyan’s personal strength dominated the mage’s magic. Even without access to his power, Rhyan was a force to be reckoned with.
The mage cursed and relented. He took one glance at the filled stadium before he sneered at Rhyan. “Either you do it my way, boy, or the Blade rips your arms apart.”
